


What's Bugging The Empath?

by Syaunei



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Background Garashir Tension, Deep Space Discord, Ensemble Cast, Friend in Trouble, Friendship, Garak Is A Big Softie, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humor, Misunderstandings, Mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:40:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24529285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syaunei/pseuds/Syaunei
Summary: Irena, the Half-Betazoid holosuite rent-a-buddy starts acting strangely.Her friends from the Art Club notice something's wrong.Everyone makes wildly inaccurate conclusions.Garak is a big softie.
Relationships: Elim Garak & Original Character(s), Julian Bashir & Elim Garak, Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 66
Kudos: 19
Collections: Deep Space Discord Literary Universe





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an ensemble cast of friends who decided that writing our space selves would be a blast! It's deeply self-indulgent and I can honestly say it's much harder to write than any straight-up Garashir I've done. XD
> 
> If interested, check the Collection for previous works in this wacky universe!

Bond was used to patrolling alone at night. It wasn't exactly by choice; just the fact the night shift was the graveyard shift, both literally and metaphorically. The few people out and about usually looked like zombies – either due to intoxication (a nice beauty sleep in the brig usually cured them of that), or were fellow shift-mates struggling to stay awake.

The usual suspects rarely changed. Any zombies ambling around after the station went to sleep were usually easily identified, almost comfortingly familiar. Morn could often be spotted shuffling to his quarters as the last customer that left Quark's. Bond was surprised the Lurian didn't own his own key at this point. M would pass by most nights, with a nod and a smile, her familiar quilt draped over one shoulder as she went back to muttering something at her padd. Even Ari could be seen, letting some of their critters out for a stroll at the time where they were unlikely to hurt either themselves or anyone else. Savannah took the occasional midnight walk or sat on an upper pylon near a viewport that never got much traffic and did some light reading, sometimes even offering a freshly baked cookie when running across a familiar face.

The nights on DS9 were mostly routine. 

That was why any anomalies (when they happened) were doubly apparent. 

A soft groan of pain surprised Bond. It was feminine and she was immediately on alert. She hurried her pace in the direction of the distressed individual and when she rounded the corner, almost rammed into a hunched figure.

A figure with a vaguely familiar outline of meticulous frizz on their head.

“Are you all right, Miss?” She asked the figure and failed to suppress the surprise at seeing the tired eyes and sympathetic, yet pained smile flashed her way.

“Oh, yes. I’m perfectly fine.” Irena said, “I wish my customers were less into mountain-climbing programs… I should start charging triple for that…” The half-Betazoid grumbled, straightening out.

Bond took in her appearance and things didn’t add up.

The lack of make-up was unusual, but consistent with the story. The hair, though? Highly impractical for physical endeavors. Still, some women chose aesthetics over practicality… However, who went mountain climbing in slightly baggy clothes?

Well, there was no sign of an assailant, or physical injury, so there was nothing much to be done but ask-

“Do you need any assistance? Perhaps to the infirmary?”

Irena made a sound between a huff and a snort.

“No, no. This is perfectly normal… I am dreadfully out of shape. I chide Garak for his overindulgence in Delavian chocolate cake, but I’m just as bad!” She laughed, but Bond could tell it was slightly forced. 

Still, no station regulation had been broken and there was no evidence of a crime, no matter the evasiveness of the person in question, so Bond had no choice but to let her go. 

With a parting smile that was half grimace, Bond watched the usually composed empath ambling away.

Something was wrong there, but it was currently outside of their jurisdiction. 

She made a mental note to include it in her nightly report regardless. 

***

Ahna was used to noticing things. 

Things that Starfleet Security tended to miss.

Indeed, things that most people missed. 

The average person would be astounded by the sheer quantity of detail available at a mere glance. A little observation followed up by some digging yielded enormous amounts of data. The trick was to parse it properly. Separate the sand from the grain, if you will. That was the reason why she read the reports, even the most banal ones. She appreciated the training and discipline the Starfleet personnel possessed, but it was glaringly obvious that most of these people had never been forced into a situation where keen observational skills meant the difference between actual life and death. It wasn’t instinctual to them. Training was not the same as actually living it. This is why even the reports made by otherwise extremely astute individuals could be almost shockingly sparse on the crucial details.

Indeed, this was why being there in the flesh was so important. The details of someone’s posture, choice of words, clothes – anything, really.

Anything could be important.

No detail was irrelevant.

It was this niggling doubt that brought her to this particular table. With a glass of something that appeared alcoholic, but wasn’t actually, she conducted surveillance. 

It wasn’t in any sort of official capacity, which was why she was here in her spare time, sipping a mocktail and hoping her hunch was nothing but a baseless, overblown phantom of a feeling that hadn’t managed to go away, even now when there were no more Cardassian overlords on the station. 

Unless you counted Garak, who was certainly trying very hard to appear innocuous – which only raised alarms in her mind.

There was no such thing as a perfectly innocuous Cardassian. 

It took more than genial smiles and pretty clothes to erase the image of stiff black armor and sneering, domineering grins.

Ahna remembered.

And she knew every Bajoran carried the same memories with them - the same baggage.

In the temple.

On the Promenade.

In their dreams.

It followed you. 

But this wasn’t about that.

This was about someone vulnerable who, despite being an omnipresent yet understated source of kindness, seemed unable to ask for help they so often offered.

Someone who was, even now, offering relationship advice to one of the Dabo girls on her break.

Sometimes Ahna wondered why Starfleet didn’t just hire them to be the station’s counselor. It’s not like people were lining up to ask for Telnorri’s advice. 

Or perhaps it was the warmth that made people open up in her presence? There was something similar in the warmth Doctor Bashir exuded, an unaffected earnestness and sincerity – a veritable font of care for anyone even remotely injured who crossed his path.

Still, Ahna could tell – there were differences too.

Unlike Bashir, who was an individual with almost boundless reserves of energy, the half-Betazoid had her moments when that happy exterior faltered – a frown after a long program, a sigh, or a weak smile. 

Right now, it was the unnatural pallor that gave her pause. The shadows hung around those usually expressive dark eyes, and Irena’s usually vibrant voice was oddly subdued.

It wasn’t right.

This was the look of an abused comfort woman trying to keep a happy face for a friend who had it worse. 

Something was off, and Ahna was determined to find out what it was. 

***

“Giuditta, sweetie – no.” Irena shook her head emphatically.

The delightfully bubbly pink-haired hologram looked at her with curiosity.

“Why not? It would be interesting!”

Irena heaved a sigh and pinched the bridge of her aquiline nose. 

“Luring Dukat here with promises of an open date night would be an absolute disaster.”

“But then I might finally get the footage I need for the Archive!” They said cheerfully, clapping their dainty hands with delight.

“And trigger almost the entire Bajoran population of DS9 in the process!” Irena appealed to their reason. “How many times do I have to remind you that he is a malignant narcissist? He thrives on the attention, adoration and fear he causes. Please, for the continued sanity of every humanoid woman on this station, change your target to anyone else? You wouldn’t want to upset all your Dabo girl friends? Or Kira and Ahna?”

This apparently gave the hologram a pause and a pouty look appeared on their usually animated face.

“No…”

Irena sighed in relief.

“Please, honey… Any other Cardassian. If Dukat docked here now, I wouldn’t be able to take it.”

Giuditta squirmed in their seat but nodded acceptance, their pretty pink hair bounding around in mischievous tendrils.

Well, this plan had backfired completely, Irena thought. Usually, hanging around with people who had no spilling emotions was strange – that’s how she knew who was dangerous – either by nature or by training (Garak being the notable exception, the adorable ball of snark and scale that he was), but there were times where any kind of stray emotion could unbalance her and set her off, and hanging out with someone who could either keep a lid on their feelings of simply processed them in a way undetectable to her felt like an absolute vacation.

Not so now.

Everything was irritating. 

The lights were either too bright or too dim; every noise was either amplified to the point of being grating or too low for her to pick up – causing her to flinch at the slightest surprise. Even the clothes she usually loved felt too constricting. She looked at her hoodie and sweatpants in distaste. Black had been a phase she thought herself well rid of. 

“I think it’s time for me to retire to my den…” Irena excused herself and squeezed Giuditta’s hand affectionately. 

It was time for a triple hot chocolate in the privacy of her quarters.

Sitting at her secluded table, Ahna tried to tamp down on her alarm.

_ “If Dukat docked here now, I wouldn’t be able to take it.” _

The words sent a cold shiver of dread down her spine. What in the world had the empath gotten herself involved in? If Dukat was in any way responsible for Irena’s distress, Ahna would make sure he paid for it dearly.

He was long overdue for a good serving of Bajoran justice.

She grit her teeth and downed her lukewarm drink.

It was time to dig deeper.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Features a cameo of my very dear friend, Obsidian_Operative!
> 
> Enjoy crawling over Garak! ;P

The critters liked the night-time on DS9.

Delta was currently running around, sniffing for bugs and Ari looked at their pet fondly. Hopefully nothing the marsupial found would be dangerous to crunch on. The quoll was usually smart enough not to eat things that made it sick.

Ari adjusted their glasses in the low lighting and were startled when a person stumbled round the corner, all but walking into them.

“Watch your step!” They warned the clearly disoriented woman. “Almost stepped on poor Delta, there.”

Irena blinked, almost as if trying to clear her head. 

“Oh,” The half-Betazoid muttered softly and looked around her, noticing the quoll for the first time. “I’m sorry, I don’t see that well in the dark… I didn’t startle her, did I?”

Delta had darted away, staring at the intruder frozen for but a moment and then scampered up, tiny feet clawing into the clothing until she was perched on their shoulder. Ari could see it wasn’t anything serious, so they replied-

“She’ll be fine, don’t worry. Territorial little bugger,” They said fondly and stroked she dark, spotted fur. Deeming Delta calm for now, they turned their attention to Irena.

“How is Obsidian?” Ari asked. “Do you have enough mivit grubs for it?”

Irena smiled at the mention of her pet regnar.

“Obsidian is wonderful! She loves her mossy rock enclosure and the sand! Pity she hides most of the time… Don’t worry, I am well stocked on mivit grubs! She lacks for nothing, the spoiled lizard…” She said fondly, eyes full of adoration.

Obsidian was a stowaway little reptile found in one of the cargo bays. Ari had been extremely excited to observe the regnar’s mimicry but found the dear thing didn’t get along well with her other rescues. They had half a mind to offer it to Garak, but, as usual, hadn’t managed to muster the courage to approach the man. Luckily, Irena had stopped by the shelter and immediately recognized the species – oohing and aahing over the pretty scaled thing so much that Ari knew they’d found a good home for it.

“Maybe she’ll feel like cuddling tonight?” Irena said hopefully and said her good-byes. 

Yes, Ari thought.

Something about both owner and pet gave her the impression that physical affection was currently in short supply…

***

Savannah bounced into the classroom happily, whistling some terribly obscure 21st century tune and ceased as soon as the first person covered their ears.

The Art Club was a hub of lively activity, as per usual. Oo’loo was gathering her paints, Ari was busy sewing together some fantastical-looking plush creature, and Panyi seemed to be trying very hard to sew a blue button on a scrap of soft gray fabric. Ivek was using one of the tables to sculpt hands – as usual. His current sculpture seemed to be a highly realistic and life-sized pair of hands doing the high five. 

“Heyyy, that looks nice!”She exclaimed enthusiastically. Ivek muttered something under his breath and kept fussing over a clay cuticle. Knowing better than to poke him while he was so engrossed, she wandered off towards her other friends.

She was greeted by Susan who had her favorite mug along (one with a level of liquid which indicated when not to speak to her lest she hurl a mumbled, yet poignant insult your way) who was currently working with watercolors. At a distance, whatever it was, seemed wonderfully colorful. 

Speaking of wonderfully colorful, Savannah looked around and stopped in her tracks.

The place was pretty packed, but despite the hustle and bustle – the place seemed strangely… Empty?

She looked around, taking stock and wondered aloud,

“Uh, where is Irena? Is she late?”

“Not coming.” Robertson said, bypassing her with a padd in hand. “She said she was indisposed.”

Savannah’s eyes went wide.

“That’s not like her…” She observed. She knew for a fact that Irena, while she had some scatter-brained moments (good, just like the rest of us mortals) always made time for Club meetings. And on those extremely rare occasions when she had holosuite work, she would call ahead and say she was busy.

Not… Indisposed.

“Is she ill, or something?” Savannah pressed for details.

Robertson shrugged. 

“I don’t know,” They said, “She didn’t specify.”

And Robertson wasn’t the kind of person to pry. Unless you forgot to take your vitamin supplements.

“You’re exaggerating,” Susan said, letting her paper dry, “Let the woman have a night off if she wants it.”

“Yeah, of course!” Savannah agreed and sat down next to Susan, leaning in to peer at her work. It was a pretty neat depiction of the open wormhole. “Oooh!! That looks amazing!”

“The colors are all wrong.” Susan grumbled, looking at it critically. 

“Irena seemed really tired last night, maybe she’s resting.” Ari added, going back to their stitches.

Of course. Well, they were all friends here. Surely, if the vintage glam starlet needed some help or support, she’d have asked for it? 

Somewhat reassured, Savannah conceded, “Yeah, probably.” 

Everyone got tired sometimes, right?

***

“My dear, I am sorry to note this, but you look dreadful.”

Irena looked at Garak through narrowed eyes and let him in, locking the doors behind him.

“Your tactfulness needs work - _your snarkiness_.” She sniped at him, both aggravated and relieved that he was here.

Still, when Garak offered his palm she felt herself melt a little and pressed her narrow palm against his wide, calloused hand. It was surprisingly warm. 

“Sit down, Garak… The kanar is there; serve yourself while I feed Obsidian.”

As she was lowering a mivit grub fresh from the stasis box into the hot terrarium, Garak’s displeased dulcet tones reached her-

“Oh, you mean under your brazier, dear? And this pile of… what are these anyway?”

She half-turned and fought a snort at the sight of him holding a soft yellow sponge roller with the tips of his fingers and observing it as if it had somehow insulted his intelligence. 

“It’s used to curl my hair, Garak.” She rolled her eyes. 

“Truly?” He affected surprise. “It thought you just woke up looking perfect! Well, except the last couple of days…”

Any goodwill he may have accumulated with his witty repartee had been squandered at the reminder.

“I know I look like shit, Garak, you needn’t point it out.”

“Perish the thought!” He said dramatically and she decided to ignore him for the moment, opting rather to look at the mossy rock enclosure where her adorable pet had the habit of hiding (when she wasn’t busy basking in the artificial light). Irena stood immobile with the mivit grub resting on her outstretched palm and gasped in soft joy as Obsidian peeked her pretty little head out and scented the air. 

Irena watched with bated breath as her elusive regnar friend carefully ventured outside and tentatively climbed onto her palm, blinked lazily a few times and then snatched the treat with lightning speed, munching on it happily.

“She’s beautiful.” Garak observed softly.

The bastard, he knew exactly how to soften her.

Slowly and carefully, Irena picked up the skittish creature and lifted it out of its habitat, cooing to it softly and nuzzling its cute scaly head.

“I notice her terrarium is the cleanest thing in your quarters…” Garak observed unhelpfully and she glared at him in warning.

“You’re welcome to tidy up if it bothers you.”

“Last time I tried you yelled at me for folding your clothing wrong.” He observed shrewdly.

“I have a system.” She said haughtily.

“Indeed.” He said amiably. “It is called ‘chaos’, I believe.”

Irena huffed and lowered herself onto the couch, melding into the upholstery with a groan. Obsidian butted her index finger and she took it as a sign that her darling was feeling a trifle neglected, so she settled down and started gently petting her scales.

Garak settled next to her with a small glass of kanar, sitting primly like he was on some diplomatic event.

“For someone who seems keen on forcing goodwill on others, you appear unable to accept it in turn…”

Guiltily, she looked to the pillow he’d made for her and felt called out.

“I’m sorry, Garak…” She apologized, knowing it was terribly ungrateful. “It just… It doesn’t help.”

“What does help, then?”

She blushed.

“It’s… It would be inappropriate to ask…”

“Why?” Garak inquired.

His sincerity was so lovely it made her want to cry. 

“It’s… Too intimate. To Cardassians, I mean.”

“My dear, I am flattered, but surely-“

“Not sex, you scaly idiot!” She blurted, “I wouldn’t-“ She blushed profusely, cursing the fact she hadn’t applied foundation today. It would have spared her the embarrassment.

“Even if you were a decade younger…” She trailed off, hating herself even for admitting that much. “I wouldn’t… “ She cleared her throat. “I know where your affections lie. You’re my friend. That’s all I want. Please, don’t misunderstand me.”

Her pleading gaze must have been effective, since he dropped that particular line of questioning.

Or maybe it was the topic of Julian that the Cardassian seemed unable to broach. 

A tacit, unspoken agreement was reached. No delving into topics best left alone.

It was then that Obsidian decided she was quite bored with her mistress’ affections and scampered off across the couch, climbing up Garak’s thigh.

The tailor let out a delighted giggle as Obsidian used his neck ridges as terrain. He picked her up from his shoulder and brushed the underside of her jaw with a gentle finger. Irena noted that both of her scaly friends seemed quite unguarded in each other’s company. It was such a privilege to witness. Garak was smiling openly, warmth shining from within him like the most comforting of spring days and Obsidian… Well. Obsidian just looked smug, the little drama regnar.

“Have I ever told you that I kept one of these as a pet, once?” Garak said offhandedly and she soaked the information up.

“Nuh-uh.” She murmured, looking at the scene with unabashed fondness.

“I named it Mila.”

“Awww-“ Irena cooed, hoping Garak would assume she was looking at the regnar-shaped putty in his hands and not at his soothing aura of affection.

His warmth was special, especially because she knew how painstakingly it was hidden. To see him opening up so much it positively flooded out in her presence…

It was a gift. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alex the bookshop owner of DS9! :D
> 
> Enjoy!

Alex loved her work. Others didn’t always see the beauty in books, their smell, shape, age… In the artwork woven lovingly into their spines and pages. Sure, padds and data crystals were useful, but they _had no soul_. No character. All convenience and no artistry. Still, even in this highly technological age, there were still aficionados who saw the appeal in a nice physical copy of a book. As such, the bookshop had many regulars.

The human historian, Emma, who always came around and asked a million wondrous questions Alex loved answering (when she knew the answer) and merely listening to when she didn’t. 

The schoolteacher, who had paid an almost outrageous sum for a well-loved copy of Midnight Cowboy, and kept coming back for more, buying all the 20-22nd century conspiracy books – Atlantis, The Bermuda Triangle, the supposed immortality of some old, obscure singer called Elvis, etc. 

The sweet computer wiz girl who had happily taken a haunted copy of The Tales of the Chtulhu Mythos off her hands (Alex was glad to be rid of it, the lights no longer randomly flickered on and off at night).

Then there were the casuals, who appeared and disappeared in a weird and indecipherable pattern but were no less memorable for it – the station’s sole Cardassian occupant being one of them. He bought the strangest things - Klingon poetry, Andorian murder mysteries, Cardassian chick-lit and even some Earth literature. She could still see him casually bringing Cloud Atlas and Crime and Punishment to the register, trying to appear genuinely curious and even haphazard about his choices, but Alex got the feeling he had read them before. Nobody splurged quite so much on antique books unless they knew what they were buying. 

Then there was the caring half-Betazoid who occasionally popped in and asked about various different mythologies, from Ancient Vulcan to Ancient Hebitian and Alex felt bad for often having to turn her away. The information she sought was hard to find even in the best stocked libraries in the quadrant, let alone a small bookshop on a Bajoran station outside Federation space. 

Alex almost didn’t recognize her without her usual trappings. She looked both younger and older without the makeup and her hair was haphazardly stuffed into a scarf that didn’t really match her outfit.

“How may I help you?” Alex asked politely, hoping against hope that she had whatever book the poor exhausted creature wanted.

The girl looked at her with soulful eyes and asked-

“Do you; by any chance, have Karel Čapek’s children’s stories? I will completely understand if you don’t, I know it’s a long shot…”

Alex blinked and held up a finger.

Čapek … Čapek… Slovak? No – Czech writer… And playwright too? She ran into the backroom. People rarely bought anything written in Slavic languages – so rarely in fact, that even the copies in Standard didn’t get picked up. Where was it? She knew she had a box of Russian literature, nope. Croatian, Serbian, Bosnian, Slovenian, Bulgarian and Macedonian were stacked together in a big crate. No… Ah! There it was! Polish, Czech and Slovak. She rummaged through the pile – Balla, Dobrakovová, Kukučin, Pišt'anek... No, those were Slovak, where was it??? Alex pulled book after book out of the crate and after a few minutes of rummaging exclaimed in triumph, pulling out a nice hard-backed copy of Karel Čapek's stories. With a manic grin, she tucked a stray lock behind her ear and she hurried back to the register, holding the book like a trophy. 

“I have it!”

And there it was – the look every earnest book lover got when they realized something they adored would soon be in their possession. Impossibly pleased by the fact she’d managed to find something for her picky customer, Alex put a hefty discount on the book and offered the payment device with the price listed to the now smiling girl who seemed perplexed by the number, yet happily pressed her thumb to it. 

“Anyone special you’re buying it for?” Alex asked.

Irena just laughed, clutching the book to her chest when a grimace marred her features and her palm darted to her stomach almost protectively.

“Ugh, a friend.” She answered slowly. 

“There you are, my dear!” A familiar male voice drifted in from nearby.

“Garak!” Irena exclaimed, clearly genuinely pleased to see the Cardassian. “I just bought you something!”

“You shouldn’t be out and about in your condition, dear. Remember what happened yesterday?”

Irena rolled her eyes at that and gave him a playful shove.

“So what, I ate too much cake and got a bit sick…”

Garak’s ridges lifted.

“Your talent for understatement never ceases to amaze… Let’s get you back to your quarters before you get any worse, hmm?”

“I’m not an invalid,” The woman grumbled, but Alex could see nothing but fondness in her dark eyes as she locked arms with the tailor and left.

Friend?

Condition?

Getting sick… grasping her belly…

Oooooh ! 

Well, that would be… highly unusual.

Still, Alex chided herself- the private lives of her customers were none of her business. 

As she headed back into the storeroom to sort out the mess she’d made, Alex muttered to herself – “It would explain all the fabulous clothes…”

She shook the thought away and started putting the books back.


	4. Chapter 4

Ahna was currently resisting the urge to pace. And the urge to bite the inside of her cheek bloody. She kept flexing her fingers though, fighting the restlessness she felt.

The Cardassian was in her quarters. 

Had been for the past _two hours_.

Why anyone in their right mind would want to have a Cardassian over for socializing (beyond trying to get information out of them – she shuddered) was beyond her. Garak _seemed_ supportive. _Seemed_ genuine.

**_ Seemed _ ** .

There was most certainly something sinister behind his docile smiles. Ahna could feel it. The sharp edges of a well-sharpened knife peeking behind the curtain of his courtesy. Whatever he’d been before opening a tailor shop occasionally bled through. Certainly, he hid it well. He could be almost charming. 

But Ahna knew better. She’d seen her fair share of _almost_ charming Cardassians. They playacted at civility. Pretended kindness. So often, in fact, that acts of true charity she’d seen from them (they did happen – very infrequently) were easily overshadowed by the sheer volume of the atrocities heaped upon Bajor and its people. For every softened look of compassion, there were a hundred gleeful ones. For every woman spared the attentions of a Cardassian soldier, a thousand instances when they were not. And not only women, either. 

Cardassian _kindness,_ Cardassian **_mercy_** , always came with a price. 

Ahna was currently busy trying to figure out what kind of terrible price Irena was paying. Her mind was trying hard to filter out the intrusive, overlapping thoughts.

Feeble struggling.

Screams.

Terrible, covetous gray hands grasping-

Cold laughter-

She clamped down on the memories and pushed them down. She was disciplined. So into the box they went, into a vault. Some days, she wished she could just obliterate them but then remembered. 

Had to remember.

Never give them quarter.

Always be vigilant. 

She heaved a sigh, wondering if it would ever go away, because some days it certainly didn’t feel like it.

At the first sign of the door locks disengaging, she flipped out her scanner and took some readings of a nearby panel. 

“I know you will roll your eyes at me – ah, charming, you’re doing it now, but I still suggest you should go to sleep.”

“It hurts too much to sleep, Garak.”

“Try anyway.” He said softly and Ahna hated the fact it sounded sincere.

She wanted to hate him. 

It was easier if all of them were the same. 

“I…” The empath mumbled and Ahna strained her ears to catch the rest. “I don’t know what I would do without you, Garak. Thank you… For everything.”

“Nonsense, my dear. What are friends for?”

Ahna couldn’t see Garak’s expression from the back, but she could see Irena’s. 

There was so much in that expression – gratitude, affection…

Love.

“Good night, sweetie.” Irena said softly and kept her palm against Garak’s for a few seconds. 

He coughed and straightened, inclining his head respectfully before stepping away. 

Ahna jerked her head back to her scanner as if burned and kept staring at it with an almighty frown.

_ Prophets…  _

What the hell had that been???

By the time she looked up, Garak had disappeared.

Damn it all. 

It was time for an extra strong Raktajino while she considered her next move.

***

“Quark, you shifty little-“ Irena all but growled as she pinched his earlobe and twisted – hard.

“Ow, ow – ow! Easy there! I’ll demand you pay my medical bills!” The Ferengi whined, raising his palms in supplication.

“The Infirmary treats people for free, Quark.” She drawled, in no mood for his schemes.

“Odo!” Quark squealed, trying to summon the Constable who was standing in the doorway with his arms crossed. “I am being assaulted here!”

The Chief of Security harrumphed, drawling out:

“Whatever it is you did, I am sure you deserved it.” With that, the shapeshifter up and left.

“You can’t leave me here! Odo! Owww-”

“What have I told you about referrals?” Irena said, completely aggravated.

“I yield! I yield!” The slippery Ferengi whined and whimpered as she released him.

“Well?” She demanded. “And don’t ask for latinum to jog your memory, because I’m pretty sure your other ear could use a matching bruise!”

“All right!” Quark croaked, rubbing his ear and staring at her balefully.“You said no funny business.” 

She narrowed her eyes and raised a hand to twist his other ear when he shrieked in a higher pitch:

“No erotic scenarios! I remember!”

“If you remember, why did I get a request for a belly-dancing program??”

“It’s just a little dance…” Quark muttered, shoveling ice into a rag and pressing it against his reddened ear. 

Irena felt her blood boil. Of all the misogynist, dismissive-

“Not if it’s in front of three Nausicaans!”

“Latinum is latinum! Just because you are a fe-male with no lobes for business… Besides, it’s not like you haven’t done it before…”

She stopped dead, as if struck. Why would he bring that up now, after all this time? She had just started to get better… Just shopped hearing his sweet laughter and seeing his gentle cerulean eyes…  It was getting easier-

“That’s… different.” She muttered.

“Well, if you had been less uptight, maybe your little Cardassian lover never would have left you!”

She gasped at his cruelty.

“How dare you… You of all people!”

Quark had the good grace to look abashed for a moment before he went back to his defiant haughty gaze.

“I heard he’s happily married now, serves you-“

Not here. Not in front of a bar full of customers. Former. Future.

A loud sob escaped her.

“Hey, hey – I’m…” Quark stammered, “I’m sure his wife’s a shrew! Yeah! He must be terribly unhappy!”

People had been listening in, she could tell. Even now she could feel a subtle undercurrent of pity, worry and disdain whirling around her. It was disorienting. And she currently had no strength left to maintain her emotional barriers. She could feel her pain rising to the surface, bubbling and spilling over. She wiped her face and her hand came away wet. 

_ You can cry in your quarters. Not here. _

_ Not here. _

_ Not yet. _

Mortified, she elbowed her way through the crowd, recoiling from the emotions churning in the room.

Her mother’s words floated through her mind – _“Ignore them. Let it wash over you. Your skin is like a raincoat – let it all slide down.”_

_ Oh mother… What happens when the raincoat is torn? What happens when you cannot fix the tear and it’s left flapping in the wind and the torrential rain? _

Somebody was calling her name, but she couldn’t… Just couldn’t. Any more emotion, even friendly concern would make the water boil.

There was nothing to do but run.

***

Robertson stared after the distressed empath wondering what they should have done.

Touching someone without permission was bad, especially if they were having a meltdown. Were half-Betazoid meltdowns worse, they wondered. It couldn’t be easy, simultaneously feeling an entire room of people. They could perfectly imagine just how disorienting and overwhelming that could be. There were times when just having their own emotions to contend with was too much.

“I think she’d rather be alone right now,” Keiko pointed out tactfully. 

Robertson nodded haltingly.

Still, there was an awful nagging feeling in their mind.

_ If she were in trouble… _ _ Would she ask for help? _

For some reason, they doubted it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irena's friends from the Art Club decide she needs an intervention.
> 
> A guileless Bajoran boy drops a (truth?) bomb on them.
> 
> Ahna goes to Bond for more information.

“Guys, this is getting serious.” Savannah said. “This is the third time Irena’s been indisposed this week. And normally, I wouldn’t be worried, except I saw Garak worried and…” 

“That means it’s serious.” Robertson finished. 

“I’d have better luck reading my fortune out of the dregs of my coffee, than guess what Garak is thinking.” Susan snorted.

“He cares.” Robertson said firmly. 

“She needs an intervention!” Savannah said passionately. “I mean, she adores my caramel bars… Or I could bake some triple chocolate fudge cookies, and then I could just… you know… Swing by casually…”

Susan snorted and rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, _real_ casual.”

“Ye of little faith!” Savannah bumped Susan with her knee and Susan stuck out her tongue.

“Keiko said Irena seemed like she’d prefer to be alone…” Robertson said uncertainly. 

“Are you honestly telling me you aren’t worried by now??” Savannah asked incredulously.

Robertson frowned. Of course they were worried.

“That’s not the point…” Ari chimed in. “Approaching a wounded creature is always… Delicate. Just… Be gentle?”

“Of course we’re going to be gentle, it’s not like we were going to break down her door!” Savannah huffed. “I mean… Right?”

“Teacher?” The little Bajoran boy gently pulled Robertson’s sleeve. 

Their expression softened as they looked at the boy kindly.

“What is it Panyi?”

“I heard a rumor…”

Oh dear. This had the potential to be nasty. Robertson spoke softly.

“Rumors aren’t always truthful, Panyi. Or kind.”

“Well… This one seemed nice? I just… I wanted to ask, should I congratulate Mister Garak?”

Robertson’s eyes widened.

“Congratulate him?” They wondered aloud, “What for, Panyi?”

“Well… I heard he was going to be a father? Isn’t that usually… a good thing?”

“What??!” Savannah exclaimed at the same time as Susan sprayed coffee all over the table and started choking. 

“Oh shit!” Savannah cried out and reached for a paper towel to wipe up the mess off of padds and art projects currently drying on the table in front of them.

Robertson stood there frozen, unable to parse the information.

“Did I… say something bad?” Panyi was getting teary-eyed and that jolted Robertson out of their momentary stupor.

“No! No, of course not, Panyi. It is very kind of you to wish to congratulate someone on having a baby… I just… May I ask, who is the… other parent?” They asked tactfully. 

“The pretty lady who can read emotions!”

“Fuck!” Susan blurted out, dissolving into another fit of violent coughing as Savannah started to smack her back to get her to stop. It didn’t seem to be helping much and Susan was currently completely red in the face. 

Robertson was currently wondering why they were friends with people who so liberally used profanity in front of small children. But this wasn’t the time to reprimand them, not after this absolute ANTIMATTER BOMB Panyi had dropped on them. 

“Panyi…” They used their most patient voice, “Where have you heard that?”

In that moment, the absolute worst person entered the Club Room.

“Panyi, it’s time to go home.” His uncle said admonishingly and Robertson realized they had ran overtime.

“Oh, but I-“

“I know you’re having fun here, but you’re late for supper. Come along.” The Bajoran man beckoned and Panyi reluctantly went with him.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow in class!” Panyi promised and skipped along, already excitedly recounting what he’d been working on during the evening, leaving a gaggle of utterly gobsmacked individuals in the room behind him.

***

“Lieutenant Bond, may I have a word?”

Bond looked up from her console, looking at the Bajoran Intelligence Operative quizzically. 

“I am in the middle of writing my report, but I can spare a minute or two.” She said cautiously, wondering why major Kira’s shadow would be asking for her specifically. Bond respected Ahna, as she seemed fierce, meticulous, and maintained a professional attitude. All good traits to have, in her book.

“How may I help you?” Bond asked politely, waiting for Ahna to speak.

There was steel in the Bajoran woman’s eyes as she handed over a padd.

Bond looked it over and realized it was one of her reports from a few days ago.

“Is there something that we have to follow up on?” The Security Officer asked.

“Not… officially.” Ahna confessed, some discomfort evident in her posture at the admission. “Call it… intuition.”

Bond skimmed the contents of the report again.

“You have a gut feeling.” She stated with some conviction.

“Ah- Yes.” Ahna held her ground, her spine unnaturally straight.

Bond sighed. 

“I assume you have followed up on it and something incriminating enough gave you pause?”

Ahna nodded tersely. 

“Very well. What do you want to know?” Bond squared her shoulders.

“You wrote you heard sounds of distress and checked up on an individual, only to be assured they were all right.”

“It warranted a mention, yes. That’s why it’s included in the report.”

“Is there anything you have omitted from the report?” Ahna inquired, her gaze flinty and demanding.

Bond sighed.

“You know how they are. People lie. If I had a slip of gold-pressed latinum for every time a witness assured me everything was perfectly fine, I could retire on Risa yesterday.”

If at all possible, Ahna’s gaze got even chillier after that.

“You wrote she claimed her muscles were sore from a mountain-climbing program?”

“I have, yes. Have you found evidence to the contrary?”

Ahna’s shoulders slumped marginally.

“No. Quark isn’t being cooperative. Says his client information is ‘confidential’.”

Bond snorted.

“I know that one would probably sell his mother for a bar of latinum,” Ahna said scathingly, “But the only person around here who could wrangle the truth from Quark is Odo, and as you and I know-“

“He has no warrant. No proof of crime. I know.” Bond said solemnly.

“But you feel she was definitely lying?” Ahna persisted.

Bond warred with herself. Obey the protocol or try to protect someone vulnerable?

“Unofficialy?” Bond said, “ I’ve seen enough assaulted women to be able to tell you she  was absolutely hiding something and that she seemed to be in considerable pain – unofficially.” She repeated for emphasis.

“Understood.” Ahna said, a dangerous gleam in her eye.

She turned to leave when Bond called after her –

“Don’t do something you’ll regret, ok? Keep a cool head.”

Ahna seemed to suppress a swell of anger, nodded in acknowledgment and stormed off.

Bond waited a solid ten seconds and then groaned.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ahna finds out about the pregnancy rumor and shit hits the fan.
> 
> Savannah runs to the Infirmary to fetch Julian.

“Guys, guys, hey! It can’t be true!” Savannah insisted. “It’s got to be some kind of joke, right? They are just friends!”

“Yeah…” Robertson said absentmindedly. What they overheard at Quark’s seemed very relevant all of a sudden, but it seemed too personal to share. Besides, it would be horrible to reveal such a painful thing and expose Irena to more malicious rumors, so they opted to say nothing.

Susan was currently vigorously scrubbing at her coffee splashed uniform and growling because the stain wouldn’t come out.

“Stupid-“ She pulled at her shirt, “Goddamn-“ She snarled, “Thing!!! Seriously? Who thought making uniforms that EVERYTHING sticks to was a good idea?”

“I think we have more pressing issues than a coffee stain!” Savannah despaired. “Gosh, just replicate a new one!!”

“I like this one!” Susan’s eyes flashed, “I’ve just broken it in until it’s nice and comfy!”

“Jesus!” Savannah exclaimed, “I’ll pay you a uniform alteration at Garak’s!!”

“Fine!!” Susan sniped and then noticed Rob was looking kind of peaky.

“Are you done yelling?” Robertson said quietly and both Susan and Savannah nodded mutely and plopped back into their chairs obediently, chastened like unruly children.

“Sorry…” They both said simultaneously and fought a grin. 

Ari chimed in calmly, “We should just ask. Instead of losing our minds over it.”

Susan looked at them like they’ve gone bonkers. 

“Oh, sure? You wanna waltz right up to Garak and ask him – “Are you Irena’s baby daddy, by any chance??” She said sarcastically, “As if that’s gonna go over well!”

A voice as cold as an iceberg pierced the din.

“What did you just say?”

Everyone froze and stared at the figure standing in the doorway.

Ahna’s face went from absolute shock to absolute fury in less than a second.

“I will kill him…” She muttered. “That BASTARD!”

“That’s only a ridiculous rumor!” Savannah cried out, “It’s not real!”

“Well, I’ve got Bond’s report that states she’d been spotted out at night looking like she’d been assaulted; clearly in pain, and lying to a security officer!”

Nobody really had a reply to that.

“Does any one of you know what’s going on with her?” Ahna pleaded with them. “Surely she confides in _some_ of you?”

They all cast each other looks and realized, each of them; that they didn’t really seem to be that close to her, despite being friendly for quite some time.

“She confides in Garak.” Robertson said evenly. “If anyone would know, it’s probably him.”

“As if I would believe anything that lying Cardassian says!” Ahna hissed furiously.

“You don’t have to.” Robertson said, seemingly fully collected. “The real question is – do you believe her? You know what she can do. If she enjoys his company, who are we to doubt her judgment?”

Ahna seemed taken aback for a moment, but rallied remarkably quickly. 

“She wishes to see the best in people! And that can be exploited!”

“Well, not everyone.” Savannah piped up.

“Yeah, she’s always warning everyone about Dukat.” Susan said morosely, “I mean, most people don’t need a warning – he’s gross.”

“Except Guiditta.” Ari reminded them.

Ahna’s eyes widened.

“Who said Irena was pregnant?” She muttered weakly.

“Uh, Panyi. Why?” Savannah said cautiously.

“What if… What if Dukat did this?” Ahna muttered more to herself, “But why would she keep it? That makes no sense!”

“I believe we’ve taken things a bit too far, don’t you?” Robertson said reasonably. “There is absolutely no proof for any of this. All we know is that she’s been missing Art Club, walking around really tired and possibly in pain. That’s all. While we are all concerned for her, this has all been blown out of proportion.”

“Let’s just get Julian!” Savannah spoke as if she’s had an epiphany.

“That’s your solution to everything…” Susan grumbled, looking at her empty coffee cup despondently.

“No, just hear me out! If she’s sick, Julian will know what to do. If she’s pregnant, he will also know what to do! We literally can’t go wrong with that!”

“What if Irena doesn’t want us meddling?” Robertson pointed out. “If she did, she would have told us. Maybe this is a personal matter.”

The others seemed to consider this when Ahna straightened out and said-

“Well, I don’t care about that. If she needs protection from Dukat OR Garak, she’s going to get it whether she wants it or not!” With that, she turned on her heel and marched away resolutely. 

“Is she going where I think she’s going?” Susan asked.

“Rob, go get Garak! He’s the only one who can tell us what’s been going on, plus… I hope Ahna wouldn’t shoot him with you there…” Savannah gulped, trying to convince herself. 

“What are we supposed to do?” Susan blurted.

“Meet us in front of her quarters, ok?? I’m gonna go grab Julian!” She didn’t even wait to finish her sentence before bolting out the door and running straight for the Infirmary.

“I mean… Not to poop on anyone’s parade or anything, but… What would happen if Julian came there and it was really Garak’s baby?” Susan asked.

Robertson looked at her, eyes full of hopelessness and made a mad dash for the door.

“It would be a disaster of epic proportions.” Ari said.

“No shit…” Susan mumbled.

***

Savannah burst into the infirmary, knowing Julian would be there (she knew his schedule by heart). To be fair, even when he wasn’t strictly on duty, there was a good chance he was there anyway – what with him being a hopeless workaholic.

“Are you busy?” She asked, gasping for breath.

He put down a padd he’d been reading and looked up in concern, unfurling from the chair to get up – immediately on alert. 

“What’s the matter? Are you hurt?”

Torn between feeling mushy over his immediate compassionate response and irritated by his imperceptiveness, though was it really imperceptiveness if he knew she was upset and merely drew the wrong conclusion-

“I need you to come with me!” She blurted out, trying to get her mind back on track. 

“I can’t just leave the infirmary, I’m on duty-“

“It’s a medical emergency!” Savannah said with an edge of exasperated panic in her voice. “We need you to, I mean, I need-gah, this is not coming out right!” She cried out in frustration and plowed on. “You need to make a house call!”

Julian immediately sprang into action and grabbed his medkit. A tidal wave of relief swept over her. This is why she trusted him – he hadn’t even asked what the emergency was, one word and he was a flurry of compassion and ready to go.

“Who is my patient?” He asked, following her as she half-ran through the corridors.

“It’s Irena!”

“Who?” He asked in confusion.

“The vintage glam holosuite rent-a-buddy?” Savannah said incredulously. Sure, she didn’t expect Julian to know EVERY single occupant of the station, but the half-Betazoid was really hard to miss. In a sea of alien fashions and faces, she still somehow managed to stick out.  “Garak’s other friend??”

“Oh!” Julian exclaimed, his memory clearly engaging. “I never needed her services.” He managed to shrug while power-walking next to her.

“Well, now she needs yours!”

“Will you tell me what actually happened now?” Julian asked seriously.

“Long story! She was acting… unusual, and we all noticed bits and pieces – Bond saw her looking unwell after hours, Ari as well, Ahna said she seemed to be having some issues with Dukat…”

“Dukat?!” Julian raised his voice in alarm.

“Keep your voice down!” Savannah smacked him on the arm, “Do you want the rumor mill to be working overtime??”

“What kind of issues?” Julian asked in a slightly more discrete tone, concern positively bleeding through.

“We don’t know.”

“So, what is the medical emergency? Did he-oh my God, is Dukat on the station?”

“No! No… Not as far as we know? Anyways, all kind of weird rumors have been flying around – that plus crazy conjecture -”

“What kind of rumors?”

“Well, errr-“ Savannah realized that telling Julian that Irena was pregnant with Garak's baby would be a colossally bad idea. Fingers crossed and bullshit time it was! “That she’s having an affair with Dukat, for one! The other one was that she’d been assaulted? What else…” _Think, brain, think!!! Bullshit, but not Garak, don’t mention Garak..._ “Oh, err, and that she’s pregnantwithDukat’sbaby \- Why are you looking at me like that? “ At his horrified face she raised her hands, “I told you the rumors aren’t true! People are bored and make shit up all the time!”

“What is true, then?” Julian asked, slightly impatiently.

“Err…” She looked away, unable to meet his eyes.

“Savannah.” He stopped, putting a hand on her shoulder. She bit her lip and looked at him guiltily.

“There is no emergency, is there?” He asked her seriously and her brow furrowed in discomfort.

“I- We aren’t sure. All we do know is that she’s been behaving oddly and that she seemed to be in pain! Even if none of the crazy rumors are true, she might need medical attention! Maybe she’s ill and doesn’t want to tell anyone? I mean, I don’t know _why_ she would do that, but-“

Julian sighed and his eyes softened.

“All right. Let’s see what’s wrong with your friend, shall we?”

Savannah beamed at him. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irena's friends bust down her door.
> 
> Julian reveals what's wrong with her.
> 
> Julian and Garak have a... moment.

Irena was dreaming again. There were just enough inconsistencies in the dream to be aware of its nature. The difficulty moving, the sluggish responses, the shifting perspective. He had called her in the dream and she had followed. 

They met in a bar on Pullock V and just seeing him again was… Bliss. And pain. It hurt unquantifiably less than she would have imagined it would, but when he smiled and offered his hand, asking her to dance, she took it. There was a feeling of wrongness mixed in, almost like her unconscious mind was trying to remind her that it was over. Yet, the feel of his warm fingers on hers was so real… The coarse texture of his hair, the shifting blue-green shade of his eyes as clear as the cool pools of Betazed, the familiar outline of his ridges in the muted light… There was something wrong with the music in the dream, a single vibrating note, intermittent, insistent-

She awoke with a start, heart thumping, disoriented.

Somebody was ringing, asking to be let in.

Irena groaned as pain lanced through her abdomen, trying to take deep breaths to control the awful sensation. It wasn’t much help. The door chime wouldn’t stop. Her sleep soundly disturbed, she got up, slipped her feet into her slippers and padded off, half-hunched and still groggy to the door. If it turned out to be Garak, she would smack him. 

Also possibly collapse on him and start sobbing. 

Depending on his receptiveness and the next wave of-

“Ugh-” She doubled over, bracing herself against the armrest of her couch. The door needed answering, but she was wondering whether the person persistent enough to be pressing it continuously might get the hint that she wasn’t there and just bloody leave her to her suffering. Her scarf had fallen off and her limp curls fell loose from the scarf’s confines. It better be Garak, because she was sorely tempted to yell at anyone else. Hell, she’d probably yell at him too if she wasn’t feeling so sick. Waiting for the pain to abate so she could get the door, she blinked the gathering tears away. Why the hell did it have to hurt so much?

Crying out as a new spasm hit, she felt tears overflow just as the doors to her quarters whooshed open and a panicked, yet fiercely determined Bajoran woman burst in, disruptor at the ready.

Irena had no idea what to say, but her pain was momentarily shelved by the sheer force of her surprise.

It was Ahna, someone Irena knew only from passing. The Intelligence Officer was someone used to hiding her pain and putting on a brave face. Right as of this moment, the Bajoran was radiating worry and dread, her eyes darting around the room for threats. 

In the next moment, a gaggle of people burst into the room.

“Ahna, cool your jets, Jesus!” Susan panted.

“And maybe put the disruptor down?” Ari suggested, “You are scaring her.”

Momentarily stricken, Ahna complied, arm lowering shakily.

Irena tried to orient herself around the dizzying swirl of heightened emotion and felt her knees buckle. Before she could crumple to the floor, Ahna grabbed her and lowered her to the couch.

“What’s wrong?” Ahna asked, her kind features seeped in worry. 

“Too many… Too many emotions… Can’t focus on all of you-” Irena muttered and moaned in pain as another cramp gripped her insides.

Ari grabbed Susan and dragged her out without much protest. Irena could feel Susan’s relief from the other side of the door.

“How can I help?” Ahna asked earnestly, “Who did this to you?”

“Mother Nature,” Irena chuckled bitterly, “There’s nothing to be done.”

Even if she never managed to get the hang of telepathy (and was as such pitied relentlessly on Betazed), Irena could feel Ahna’s panic ratchet up a notch. It left her gasping for breath.

“Hurts… Please…” Irena squeezed out helplessly. 

“Should I fetch someone? Is there someone I can call? Doctor Bashir, perhaps?”

The worry was agonizing, because Irena could feel all of Ahna’s emotion on top of her own. Its weight was crushing. 

“Garak…” She whimpered, “Get Garak…” 

The feeling of incomprehension was strong and Ahna’s confusion swirled in her mind like a writhing, overly bright swarm of bioluminescent locusts. 

Just as the edges of her vision were beginning to blacken, she heard the door opening once more. 

“Oh my God, Irena!” Savannah’s voice cried out, “I told you, Julian! I told you there was something wrong!”

“Step aside, please.” Doctor Bashir’s warm, yet stern voice washed over her and Ahna obediently followed his instruction. 

Her eyes closed as she tried to focus. Bashir’s emotions were muted, stowed away. All that remained was gentle, professional concern. Irena let it wash over her. It was soothing, like warm and fragrant spring wind in the orchards of her home town…

“There is nothing wrong with her.” A new voice piped in. “Except the fact you are crowding her with your wild emotions, Officer Ahna.” 

“Garak-” Irena whimpered, hand lashing out wildly in his direction.

“I’m here, my dear.” He said softly and grasped her hand. 

It was intimate to clasp a Cardassian’s hand… Only close friends, family or lovers had the privilege and she started crying. That he would be taking her hand… She hadn’t thought them close enough to warrant it. Palm presses were still rare and precious enough.

“Well, if there is nothing wrong, why is she in so much pain?”

“Ah.” Julian spoke softly. “Garak was right. There is nothing wrong with her, medically. That is, it’s a perfectly natural body process in human women.”

Savannah seemed to be in the grips of some grand revelation as she exclaimed a knowledgeable - “Oooooooh!”

“She’s menstruating.” Julian said matter of factly. 

“What… what’s that?” Ahna asked, clearly perplexed. 

“It’s the regular discharge of blood and mucosal tissue from the inner lining of the uterus through the vagina,” Julian explained. “It happens on a regular cycle, usually every twenty-eight days on average, though the cycle can vary greatly depending on a woman’s age, constitution and any health complications such as the polycystic ovary syndrome that Irena seems to be suffering from.”

“Isn’t there medication for that??” Ahna wrung her hands, sounding absolutely horrified at the idea of any person bleeding each month as par for the course. 

Irena chuckled weakly.

“Half-Betazoid… Lost that part of the genetic lottery…” 

Julian looked at her sympathetically.

“I am assuming she can’t take the medication to suppress it?” Robertson said quietly and Irena was startled because she hadn’t noticed their presence. 

“It doesn’t work on Betazoids.” Julian said gently. “Human women have been around for millenia, half-human, half-Betazoid women… Not so much. It’s not a commonly reported problem, or it hasn’t been thus far.”

“I must be special…” Irena quipped weakly. 

“You are, my dear.” Garak said warmly and she squeezed his hand in acknowledgment. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Julian chided her. “I could have, at the very least, found you something for the pain, if not outright tried to synthesize you a cure tailored to your condition.”

“She’s as stubborn as a, what was that charming human expression - a mule?”

“And you’re as charming as a toothless honge.” Irena sniped back, feeling slightly better for it.

“Why, my dear!” Garak exclaimed theatrically, “I didn’t know you cared!”

“Does heat help?” Julian asked her softly and Irena nodded guiltily. “Do you have a heat pad?” The Doctor asked gently and her gaze drifted to the soft and fluffy pillow Garak had made for her.

“They don’t help.” Garak stated traitorously and she narrowed her eyes at him. 

“May I?” Julian asked, pointing to her stomach, his big hazel eyes regarding her with understanding.

After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded in defeat. 

Julian gently untucked her pyjamas and placed his blessedly warm palms on her lower abdomen, making her groan in response.

“Does that feel better?” Julian asked gently and she whimpered in relief.

“Oh dear…” Garak spoke and she chanced a guilty little look his way. Understanding was gleaming in his eyes and she felt a coil of tenderness unfurl from within him, almost physically tangible. 

“I’m sorry, Garak…” Irena apologized. She didn’t finish her thought, but knew Garak had understood. He was uncommonly good at discerning people’s discomfort. 

Over Garak’s shoulder, Irena could see Robertson beckoning to Ahna. The concerned Bajoran seemed to take the hint and left, reluctantly; trailing after Robertson and Savannah, leaving her alone with Garak and Doctor Bashir. Silence reigned in her quarters once more. 

“Where am I supposed to press?” Garak asked and Irena realized the question had been aimed at both her and Julian. 

The doctor’s face colored and Irena realized she could play this to their advantage… All she had to do was stay quiet, let out the occasional groan of pain (which meant simply not going out of her way to hide it) and let Julian show Garak what he was supposed to do. 

“Oh,” Julian stammered, removing his hands so Garak could place his, “Right, uh… Right there.” 

Irena observed as Julian maneuvered Garak’s palms, and felt a starburst of surprised pleasure radiating from the tailor as Julian’s fingers slotted between his for a second. Unable to help it, she smiled. Intertwining fingers was immensely intimate to Cardassians, and she noted the yearning both parties seemed to be feeling, to varying degrees of intensity. She let her eyes flutter closed and enjoyed the unexpected intimacy she had managed to facilitate between her best friend and the man he loved.

Briefly, she saw an image of a starlit, magenta-hued sky and two figures with interlocked hands, staring at the pulsing of a bright star cluster far, far away.

Even that brief glimpse from Garak’s momentarily unguarded mind made warm tears stream down her cheeks.

It was so beautiful.

It was hope.

It was…

_ Love.  _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep wondering... Should I add a Julian Bashir/Elim Garak tag?? Or not??
> 
> It's a very subtle thing, so... I don't know.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian notifies Irena's friends about what's been going on.
> 
> Irena opens up to Garak and shares her painful past...

“Is she ok?” Susan asked the moment Savannah, Robertson and a subdued Ahna exited Irena’s quarters. 

“I told you guys the rumors were ridiculous.” Savannah said half in triumph, half in exasperation. “She’s just having her period.”

“Oh. Good.” Susan said simply. “Scraping Dukat’s guts off the walls would have been annoying.”

Ahna’s voice drifted in, feeble and incredulous:

“Human women… bleed out… every month??”

Savannah and Robertson shared a look.

“Uh, yeah. I mean, most of us make it go away since we can, but… Yeah.”

“I take the medication,” Robertson said, “No sense in suffering through it if I don't have to.”

Savannah shrugged. “I’d love to take them, but I’m allergic, so… It’s usually not so bad, just annoying.”

The look on Ahna’s shocked face was slowly transmuting into full-blown respect. 

“Why don’t we let her sleep it off?” Robertson suggested. “Now that we know she’ll be fine?”

“Well, I’m not going until Julian tells me she’s ok. I mean, you saw her… She looked like death warmed over.” Savannah said.

As if summoned, the doors to Irena’s quarters opened and a slightly flustered Julian exited, readjusting the shoulder strap of his medkit. It looked suspiciously like he was trying to distract himself from something. When he saw all of them standing in a frazzled pile in the corridor, he smiled.

“I’m guessing you would like an update?” He asked, his eyes alight with mischief. When his question was met with a mixture of impatient and anxious nods, he continued, “I have given her something for the pain, and will bring her into the infirmary when she’s feeling better to perform a scan and get all the information I will need to make a compound tailored to her needs. But yes, she will be perfectly all right.”

“How come we never noticed her being this bad before?” Susan asked. 

“Her cycle is much longer, so I am assuming that might be the reason.” Julian offered. “I hope she knows what great friends she has.” He quirked a charming smile their way.

“So… I’m guessing she’s not really up to visitors now?” Savannah asked, trying to make sure.

“No, but... She’s in good hands.” Julian stated, a suspicious little flush coloring his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “Perhaps you could come visit tomorrow afternoon when she’s had some time to recover? I’m sure she’d be more amenable to your company then.”

With that, he excused himself and hurried back to the infirmary to finish the rest of his shift. 

Savannah clapped her hands and exclaimed cheerfully, “So, who wants to help me bake some cookies??”

***

“You could have told me.” Garak chided her. 

“And ruin your high opinion of me?” She said haughtily, teasing him.

“I suppose needless suffering is preferable?” Garak raised an eye-ridge. 

“I’m not really suffering anymore, you know.” She spoke truthfully, “It just feels like pressure now.”

Garak gave her a significant look.

“I shall keep my hands where they are for the moment, regardless.”

She relaxed into the couch and allowed him to keep her belly warm. It felt strange to once more have another person’s hands providing this kind of comfort. 

“It’s not just the pain, is it?” Garak said entirely too perceptively. 

Irena sighed and wished for a moment that she’d befriended a less astute individual but then caved in. She was well aware that Garak had more than one ghoul trapped in the basement. His past was painful and his confusion and occasional pang of guilt were growing over time, morphing from something vague and nebulous into something more structured and tangible. It was this more than anything that told her he wasn’t some irredeemable, unfeeling drone of the Cardassian regime. He may have been an agent for a significant amount of time, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of change. In fact, he was changing before her very eyes. When he was allowed to be, he could be a considerate, tender, and surprisingly caring individual. Evidenced by the patience he was demonstrating by keeping his palms on her belly, warming and soothing her, despite knowing she was no longer in any physical pain. 

Perhaps it was time to open up to someone. After all… Here, she was the one with an almost unfair advantage over other people. Most races had to rely on observational skills to teach them about other people’s feelings.

“There are different kinds of pain.” Irena stated, staring off into the distance. “To me, one kind often summons the specter of another…” With a deep breath, she went on, “I told you once that I knew quite a bit about Cardassian culture… I haven't told you why, even if it should be fairly easy to guess.”

Garak’s palms stilled completely against her skin. The warmth was radiant and soothing. 

Both kinds.

“I was in love with a Cardassian once… If I’m completely honest, a part of me still is. He was…” She trailed off, signing wistfully at the memory. “Wonderful. Perhaps the first person to truly see me for who I was.” Irena laughed humorlessly and continued, “Cardassian memory isn’t linear. Neither is Betazoid. But a strange thing happens to a hybrid like me, memories are sequential but in reverse order. They chain by association and unfurl like a ball of yarn. Once the ball is dropped, it will roll away and unravel. So I don’t see everything all at once, but it chains together and it’s very hard to stop.”

She halted for a moment, savoring their last meeting, their last date, and then the association took her to their first date and their first meeting. She knew the moment she laid eyes on him… There was potential for so much… For so much more... 

“See, nobody really knows me.” She stated flatly. “And I don’t just mean that in a generalized philosophical way, I mean it quite literally. Here, I have reinvented myself. When people see me, they see my antique sense of fashion. They see my kindness. They see warmth… A shoulder to cry on. And while that is certainly a facet of my personality, that’s not at all how I was perceived back home.” Once she’d begun talking about it, it was impossible to stop.

“The primary way of communication on Betazed is telepathy. Language is still used, obviously, as it’s necessary to provide a contextual and linguistic framework as a sort of template to facilitate telepathic communication. Yet, the older Betazoids get, the less they speak. At some point, children are expected to abandon the crutches of speech and start communicating telepathically. It is not only encouraged, it is expected. Half-Betazoids… Don’t always inherit enough of the… talent, shall we say?”

“Untalented is the last word I would use to describe you, dear.” Garak said softly and Irena appreciated his gentleness.

“The older I got, the worse it was for me. It started small, with curious and bewildered comments. Since I never learned how to project my thoughts, no matter how hard I tried, the gulf between me and everyone else was… Widening. You cannot know how humiliating it is to be the only person in your class that has to answer your instructor’s questions verbally. A lot of public spaces are designed with quietness in mind. There isn’t a lot of chatter. And I always had a lot to say, but nobody to say it to. My way of communicating… It didn’t endear me to most of my peers. If there was one thing I excelled at, it was sensing emotion. But on Betazed, seeing someone suffering is not discussed openly. Help is offered to them, telepathically, but not verbally. I got in trouble over pointing out people’s distress more times than I can count.”

“It doesn’t seem like that was a good place for you.” Garak observed.

“It wasn’t.” Irena agreed. “After a certain point, remaining there had become torture. What could I, a simple half-human, do there? I was hopeless at anything resembling science or engineering, and my strengths were considered silly and atavistic. My singing voice was praised, but on Betazed, I would always be someone to be pitied. Disabled. Broken.” She said bitterly.

“I’d say you’re better off without them.” Garak commented wryly and she cracked a small smile at his show of support. 

“Ironically, this made me explore my father’s culture more. I spent a few years on Earth, but then decided I wanted to see what else was out there. On a transporter near the fringes of Federation space… I met him. He was an engineering dropout, fixing his family’s ship and keeping it running. He’d always wanted to be a ship captain and his genuine enthusiasm for his work and exploration was deeply contagious. He was so… Open may be the wrong word to use, but perhaps… Willing to be open? I decided to follow him.” A small smile blossomed on her face.

“They lived on Pullock V, ferrying supplies from several colonies and across borders. Nothing major or of huge significance, but enough to get by. I lived there for about two years. I know a lot of people despise Cardassians either on principle, or due to terrible experiences with your kind’s military, but I’ve never felt more accepted anywhere else. I sang and people would gather, listen, laugh, and dance. My words were welcome. My enthusiasm for culture and mythology was appreciated. My love of the written and spoken word was not ridiculed. I found among your people a safe harbor where I could be myself and not feel like a reject for simply being me.”

She could feel his sympathy caressing her very soul.

“I really felt like I had found a home. Found my Imzadi.” Her voice quivered and her tears spilled. “But his family… They found him a proper Cardassian wife. Daughter of a local merchant. They were childhood friends. To a Cardassian, a match made in heaven. It would strengthen both families, both businesses and the local community. I was very aware that by their standards, I was worth almost nothing as a wife. My family lives far, has no significant holdings, and I had no prestigious office or profession that would even make me eligible to marry. Even to a service-class man, I was… A worthless prospect.” Recalling this always made her weep. “I would have stayed there for him… Adapted to their customs… But the final nail in the coffin was the issue of my fertility. I… have something that is very treatable in human women. Not so much in hybrids like me. Even now, I don’t know whether I am capable of conceiving. It never really mattered to me, as it didn’t define me… But being disqualified… rendered useless over something I was just born with and couldn’t help… It… It hurt…”

She felt the hands retreating from her belly and a moment later, she was being held in a firm embrace. 

“It still hurts, Garak…” She whimpered. “I was… chased away from home… Again…”

A lance of pain and yearning flashed from him and she held onto his coarse tunic, falling to pieces.

“Humans say the home is where the heart is.” Garak muttered silently.

With a shudder, she chuckled.

She knew very well where both of their hearts were; yearning after things that would never be the same again.

“I think you are better off here, my dear.” He soothed, running a warm palm down her pajama-clad back. 

Home… A place that had brought both of them nothing but misery and yet… The idea of home… The notion, the institution, the _monolith_ remained. A deeply ingrained need.

 _I think we’re both better off,_ she thought, but it didn't bear saying, since… Well.

Garak already knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only the soft fluff and wrap up shenanigans left to write... 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the silly mystery!


End file.
